


Shine On, You Crazy Diamond

by dearjoanwallace



Category: Red Hot Chili Peppers (Band)
Genre: Based on a True Story, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 08:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10590648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearjoanwallace/pseuds/dearjoanwallace
Summary: Someone, or something, is trying to reach Flea while he and the other Chili Peppers are working on One Hot Minute





	1. Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> Shine On, You Crazy Diamond 
> 
> By Kellyanne Lynch  
> 1/15/02, 9:05 PM - 1/16/02, 1:21 AM
> 
> Disclaimer: I am a member of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. In fact, I am Flea. Do you believe what I’m saying? Neither do I. You all should know by now that I do not know the Chili Peppers, and that I make up all my stories. Some things in the fic are true, but just enough to make it sound remotely plausible. Most of it is a result of thinking about other fanfics while I was driving, mainly Lithium Polly’s story "Tapping". This fic is for entertainment purposes only, meaning yes, if you want, you can read it at family functions. Just don’t sell copies of this thing. This is a nonprofit piece.
> 
> Summary: Someone, or something, is trying to reach Flea while he and the other Chili Peppers are working on One Hot Minute
> 
> Note: For this fanfic, I drew HEAVILY upon the Pink Floyd album Wish You Were Here. Three songs end up being quoted in here. If you are not familiar with Pink Floyd, I HIGHLY suggest checking them out, especially Wish You Were Here, The Wall, and (my original favourite) Dark Side Of The Moon. Something INCREDIBLY fascinating goes along with each album. For The Wall, there’s actually a movie out there that you can rent that is AMAZING! I just saw it for the first time all the way through a couple days ago. For Dark Side Of The Moon, there’s a laser light show that they have at IMAX theatres sometimes. At least they did in Tampa, Florida, when I was living there. Also, it lines up with The Wizard Of OZ. I won’t go into that whole thing here; if you’re curious about it though, email me. For Wish You Were Here... this is something that I just like to do. Wait until you get REALLY tired and, better yet, also in an elated mood. Then shut off the lights, lie in bed, and listen to it on your discman. Seriously feels like you’re floating!
> 
> Dedication: I want to dedicate this fic to Lithium Polly, even if she does hate me, because she inspired it. If she hadn’t posted "Tapping", I might still be in a writer’s slump. Thanks!
> 
> Rating: PG
> 
> * Please e-mail with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or words of wisdom.
> 
> Peace, Love, and Chili Peppers!

In the dead of the night, there is no wind. And the earth would lay still and flat, if not for the voices and spirits that come to life.

As darkness descends over the land, I sit on a bar stool, clutching my bass. Anthony’s midsentence, and I turn away. Someone is calling me from outside. My sights drift to the window, to the open field and wood beyond. A breeze floats through the trees, rustling shaded leaves, running its fingers through the blades of grass. It drifts through the open window and dances across my cheek. And I shiver.

"Flea!" a whisper serenades my ear, soft and pleading. I shake my head, and raise my water glass to my mouth. The ice within its transparent cell rattles as I press it against my lips and knock back several gulps.

"Flea!" Swallowing hard, I lower the glass and set it on the walnut table beside me. My left foot’s jiggling against the leg of my stool, thumping out a natural beat.

"FLEA!" a new voice, this one from within the room. I turn, and my eyes meet a dark and concerned pair. "Hey," Anthony adds, licking his lips. "You okay, man?"

Glancing about the room, I observe two more sets of eyes that are fixed on me. One belongs to Dave, who’s cradling his blue Ibanez in his arms. Shocks of his jet hair cut through his sights. The other whom I find watching me is Chad, slouched behind his drum set. He’s chewing on something. From the wrapper he’s got in his fingers, I’d say it’s a Milky Way or something.

From my left, I feel another set of eyes upon me. But when I turn, I only see the window. And the darkness beyond. Another breeze, and I tremble. I know better than to think it the wind.

Chad flicks his wrapper to the floor and takes up his drumsticks. "We ready to give ‘Aeroplane’ another go?"

Dave’s sights glide from me to the tuning knobs on his guitar. Nodding, he mumbles, "Well, I’m ready!"

Anthony and Chad are still watching me, like they think I’m about to jump out of my seat and do a little dance. Instead, I turn again to the window. If I told the others, they wouldn’t understand. Furrowing my brow and heaving a sigh, I take in that reality. Really, there’s only been one other who would know what the hell I’m talking about. John. I remember back when we were recording Bloodsugarsexmagik in that 40’s style mansion. Myths or legends or rumors, or whatever you want to call them, surrounded that house. Of the Beatles first dropping LSD there. Of Hendrix’s sexcapades. But the most interesting to me, and especially to John, had to do with its ghosts. Not talk of the place being haunted. But of the reality that spirits readily spoke to you within its walls.

One night, I remember John clamouring down the stairs. Anthony, Chad, and I were all sitting around the dining room table, and we stared at each other when we heard John making such a racket. Our attention shifted to the boy when he skid around the corner. He slipped on the hardwood floor and stumbled to his knees, at Anthony’s feet.

"Guys!" he exclaimed, and his eyes were so wide that the whites overpowered the brown. Tiny black pupils frantically scanned our faces. "There are ghosts here!"

My heart skipped a beat, and I stiffened in my chair.

"Uh...," Anthony’s jaw went slack. "Ghosts? Where did you see them, John?"

John’s head moved from side to side. "I didn’t... I didn’t see them, but I felt that they were there!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Chad shifting in his chair. He leaned toward Anthony, close to the singer’s ear. I watched as his lips moved and could hear his breath hissing words. Only two could I make out, but they said it all. "Bad trip!"

One side of Anthony’s lips curved upward as Chad spoke. As the other sat upright, he nodded. "Okay, John."

John’s mouth fell open, his lower lip quivering. He turned his head to me. Those large brown eyes pleaded with me. But he took his seat nonetheless. Didn’t say a word straight through dinner, just slouched at the table and watched us eat. Watched us talking and laughing and flinging food at each other. His eyes steadily lost its flare.

As I was clearing the table, just after Anthony and Chad had left, I felt a breath tickle my neck. I turned, and John was right there behind me, his nose only an inch away from mine. That urgency had returned to his eyes, sending my heart racing. A plate dropped from my fingers and shattered at my feet.

"There are ghosts here!" he repeated.

Wildly, I nodded and stared back at him. "I know! I know! I know!" Finally, someone else who could hear and could feel the spirits acting around us! So excited to get to share this with somebody at last! And for it to be John... that boy never ceases to amaze me. His talents, his curiousity, his thirst for living and experiencing all had me enraptured. But I had to contain myself, had to tell him what he needed to know. What I had sadly come to realize over the years. "But only we can hear them!"

And, now with John not here, it is once again only I who am receptive to these bodiless beings.

"Flea!" the breeze whistles in my ear. I feel it against my cheek. Closing my eyes, I will it to speak further, to convey its message. And as I sit rigidly on the stool, I feel it enclose me in its embrace. There’s something all too familiar about it...

"FLEA!" Again, Anthony breaks in. Then glances over his shoulder as Chad heaves a sigh and clacks drumsticks onto a table. He turns back to me. "Wanna call it a night?"

"I think we’d better," Dave replies, wrapping an arm around the neck of his guitar and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Don’t think I can stay up any later."

I nod, and so does Anthony. He gets up and starts collecting up his sheet music.

Chad and Dave file out of the room, Anthony at their heels. I am trailing far behind. When he reaches the door, Anthony stops. He turns, and grimaces at me. "You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet."

"Have I." I reply, reaching for the switch plate past Anthony’s shoulder. I shut off the lights.

"You okay?" His brows are raised to me. Slowly, I nod, and saunter into the hallway, with Anthony following closely behind.

"What’s going on?" he asks, and I sigh. I know what happened when John tried to discuss something like this with him. Beyond the material - touch and taste and see and hear and feel world - Anthony is blind. He is street-wise, and he knows more about the carnal realm than any other person I know. But, when it comes to what’s beyond... frankly, Anthony is an idiot.

So I tell him, "I just have a lot of stuff on my mind," hoping that he’ll be satisfied.

He’s not. "Like what? Feel like talking about it?"

"Not really." And that’s the end of it. Anthony knows not to pry. We go off to our separate rooms, mumble "goodnight" to one another, and shut ourselves away in private cells.

My back leans into the door until I hear it click shut behind me. My fingers go to the knob, and I push in the locking mechanism. And release a sigh. With one swift, downward movement, I kill the lights. Then stumble through the darkness, to my bed. First, INTO my bed, where I slam my knee into the unforgiving metal frame. Curse to myself, hop around a bit, then flop onto the mattress. It bounces a bit beneath me before settling. And, when it does, the room plunges into silence. Complete silence. My gaze falls to the window, where I look out upon the land. Looking for some life. Not a breath. Not a breeze. I lay still in bed, waiting. My spirit is willing. But my flesh is weak. I’m out cold before anything speaks.


	2. Black Holes

"Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun  
Shine on you crazy diamond  
Now there’s a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky  
Shine on you crazy diamond  
You were caught in the crossfire of childhood and  
stardom, blown on the steel breeze  
Come on you target for far away laughter, come on you  
stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine!  
You reached for the secret too soon,  
you cried for the moon  
Shine on you crazy diamond  
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light  
Shine on you crazy diamond  
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision  
Rode on the steel breeze  
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you  
painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!"

\- Pink Floyd "Shine On You Crazy Diamond (pt 1-5)"

\------------------

2: Black Holes

It’s 4 AM, and I wake up thinking about John. He was so young when he joined the Chili Peppers. An eighteen-year-old boy, but not just any kid. He had to be something special if we were going to let him play guitar for us. After Hillel, I didn’t think we’d ever find anyone else. I really didn’t want the band to continue. But Anthony did. And he’s my best friend. I knew he wasn’t done creating music, and I wanted to be there as he unfolded. It was tough though, sitting through those auditions, watching careless hopefuls take the stage. They were trying so hard to impress us, but it was obvious that they didn’t give a sh** about music. They just wanted to be famous, travel the world, get laid, all that they felt was entailed in the rock-and-roll lifestyle.

John pretty much stumbled to our attention. His motives were so completely opposite our applicants that we didn’t even consider him right off. He just loved playing guitar. And he sounded so much like Hillel that it was like our friend was back from the dead...

Holy sh**! Why didn’t I think about that before? It probably WAS Hillel playing, through John!

Over time though, he developed his own style. You could still hear Hillel in his music, but John was starting to shine.

I roll over in bed and bury my head beneath the pillow. Every time I think of John now, I don’t see that young, shining virtuoso in my mind. Maybe at first I do, but I can’t forget what he is now. I visit him sometimes, any time I build up the courage to face him. I’m over his apartment less and less often now. Told myself I’d see him as much as I could, but I just can’t keep this up, watching him decay. Watching him puff away on a damn cigarette, which he clutches with bony, trembling fingers. But that’s not the scariest part. Not the deepening track marks on his arms. Not how he makes Kate Moss look fat. Not that his teeth are falling out and litter the floor beside his needles. Not the mix of foul stenches that permeate his apartment. What frightens me the most are his eyes, once so vibrant and... full of everything! Full of life and wonder and amusement. Now they’re like black holes, like he’s a shell of a man and his spirit has departed.

He learned too much too fast, snatched out of his youth for a "greater purpose". At least that’s what we led him to believe. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but I can’t.

"What have we done?" I whisper to myself, knowing full well that I am alone, as a tear trickles down my cheek. I reach a hand beneath the pillow to wipe it away. A futile gesture. More are swiftly following, and I can’t keep them ALL at bay.

But it wasn’t just the fame. I know that. Part of his condition is a result of learning too fast of the spiritual realm. I should have been there to guide him. But really, I never spoke much to him about it. When it suited me, we’d talk. Otherwise, we just went along our way.

If I had been there with him more, maybe it wouldn’t have all overwhelmed him. The secrets of the night snatched him away, and he could no longer live his daytime drama. His waking life no longer felt real to him.

People laugh about him now, even some who claim they are fans. They say he went crazy. I’ve even heard rumours that he’s locked up in a psych ward somewhere. When people don’t know the answers, they make up sh**. They act like John is a character in some stupid novel. And if they fail to see him as real, how is John expected to view himself that way?

He never leaves his apartment now, hasn’t been out at all in over a month. He wouldn’t be eating if I didn’t bring him those canned vitamin drinks. His mortal frame wastes away as he sits on his couch. He doesn’t even paint or play his guitar anymore. But he does see visions; I am sure of that.

All I can think of now are those eyes. I roll onto my back, toss my pillow to the floor, and stare up at the ceiling. Those desolate eyes. If it weren’t for his pulse, I would swear that he were dead. Sometimes I sit opposite him, and brave to look within. But I find nothing. Just black holes for eyes. His spirit is not inside. It has long departed. GONE. But where...

F***! Why didn’t I think of it before?


	3. Wish You Were Here

"Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far.  
Shine on you crazy diamond.  
Pile on many more layers and I’ll be joining you there.  
Shine on you crazy diamond.  
And we’ll bask in the shadow of yesterday’s triumph,  
and sail on the steel breeze.  
Come on you boy-child, you winner and loser,  
Come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine"

\- Pink Floyd "Shine On You Crazy Diamond (pt 6-9)"

\------------------

3: Wish You Were Here

In with the dawn of the morning wafts a wind pungent with flowers and dew. The light dances across my eyelids, turning them from red to black. When I open them, it is blinding. And the voices and the spirits of the night become dead to me.

Groaning, I close my eyes and roll onto my side, away from the window. Red goes to black, and slumber reaches for me.

"Come on, Flea! Rise and shine!" comes a voice from the doorway, and a rapping on its frame. Sleep drops me like I’m a leper, and I scowl. Then look over my shoulder to find Dave smirking at me. Damn guy unlocked my door again with a bobby pin! "Anthony and Chad are ready to go."

"Good for them," I mutter, and flop onto the floor. I clamour about on my hands and knees, finding a pair of jeans at the foot of the bed. I flip onto my back and start to pull on the pants.

Dave chuckles to himself.

"What?" I mumble, gazing up at him.

"Do you really think you need to wear two pairs of pants today?" Dave laughs, and I look to my legs. I forgot that I never changed out of my jeans from yesterday. Shrugging, I get to my feet. Guess I’m ready to go.

I stumble into the recording room downstairs, just behind Dave. Chad looks up from his magazine with a deer-in-the-headlights expression.

"Well good f***in’ morning!" Anthony greets us. He’s swirling about the room with his arms floating around him. He sweeps him mic off the stand and swings it by its chord. "We ready to record ‘Aeroplane’?"

"Hell yeah!" Chad replied, flinging his magazine over his shoulder. "Let’s get on with it!"

I smile and nod as I head for the window, against which my bass is resting. I look outside and see the trees and the grass thrashing about. But I know that it’s the wind. Right now, it’s only the wind.

I take up my bass and tune it. Then turn around. And I jump. My bass clunks to my feet. "Holy sh**!"

"Flea, what’s the matter?" Anthony’s voice is so distant. His presence pales to that of the bony figure sitting on the floor, back against the far wall. Brown hair springs out in every direction all about his head like a dark halo. Wide, chocolate toned eyes steadily watch me, ones full of excitement and curiousity and... and LIFE!

"Flea?" Dave’s hand rests on my shoulder, and I scream. We both jump. "What’s wrong?" he asks me, then gazes at the floor space where I’ve been staring. He shakes his head.

I glance about the room, at Chad, then at Anthony. Both are looking where I am. Both are also shaking their heads.

"Flea, what are you looking at?" Anthony finally asks me.

From his spot on the floor, John smiles at me. And I pick up my bass from off the floor. "We ready to record?" I look to each of the current Chilis as I ask the question.

Dave scratches his head. Chad furrows his eyebrows.

Anthony just shrugs. "All right, let’s go then."

I haven’t played in front of John in a long time. Not in a long, LONG time. And never could I say it was FOR him. But, this time, it was. And, as I lay into the bass on the chorus, I hear John speaking. Calling to me, crying out. Not in words though. In music. He’s strumming an acoustic guitar, and I am privileged to be the only one to hear it. To watch as his lips curl and his eyes squeeze shut, as his spirit flows into the instrument. I am the only one to see him shine.

I close my eyes and thump out the final chords. Then Chad exclaims, "Holy sh**, Flea!"

"Yeah, man!" Anthony chimes in. "That was beautiful!"

"Damn amazing," Dave adds.

When I open my eyes, John is no longer sitting across from me. I know before I even look. I can feel his breath, his pneuma, brushing across my neck. Glancing outside, I watch as the trees sway and know it not to be just the wind.

‘John is alive,’ I think with a smile. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow, how long he will remain a prisoner of the spirits as his physical body breaks down. Or how long he will shut himself off from the world. Or even when I will see him again, in body AND spirit. But I know he will continue to shine, some way, somehow.

My smile fades as I stare at that empty, EMPTY spot on the floor. For now, I am the only one to see him. The only one who recognises the spirit world. While John lives deeply entwined within it, I am alone.

\------------------

"So, so you think you can tell heaven from hell, blue skies from pain  
Can you tell a green filed from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil,  
Do you think you can tell?  
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees?  
Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?  
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?  
How I wish, How I wish you were here.  
We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year  
Running over the same old ground. What have we found? The same old fears  
Wish you were here"

\- Pink Floyd "Wish You Were Here"

\------------------

Note: The idea for the last chapter came from something that actually happened to Pink Floyd. Their original lead singer, Syd Barrett, left after two years with the band. He has schizophrenia, and his drug use aggravated it. While the band made a few albums without him, Syd lived as a recluse in London. When Pink Floyd came into the studio to record the song "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" for their upcoming album, Wish You Were Here, Syd showed up unannounced. They didn’t even recognize him at first. He was bald, and he had shaved off his eyebrows. They had also not seen him for seven years. Roger Waters, the front man of Floyd at the time, said it was like seeing a ghost. Syd is the basis for the main character in The Wall movie, and he inspired much of the band’s later works, especially that of Roger. After recording The Wall, Roger left the band as well. He still felt like Syd’s spirit remained with him and could no longer perform music like that. Since then, he has done some solo work. As for Syd, he walked from London to Cambridge, where he now lives shut out from the rest of the world in his apartment.


End file.
